


Enough

by vityamins



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Based on a True Story, Its adorable guys trust me, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Romance, Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vityamins/pseuds/vityamins
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is a household name. His novel 'greetings cards' charm the upper classes and public alike, but funnily enough, the man who makes tiny pieces of art and poetry for lovers to exchange can do nought put pine for his own beau.Very sappy and romantic viktuuri fluff (with a sprinkling of misunderstandings, humour and a dash of angst to prompt the plot along nicely)Written for Ars_Matron as part of the Yuri!!! On ice secret santa





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ars_Matron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ars_Matron/gifts).



> Here's to Ars_Matron, who has has to out up with my unforgivably tardy gifting. Hope you had a very merry Christmas and happy new year, from Vityamins xx

The London snowfall was a beautiful thing. The soot-stained smokestacks and grimy brick of the Camden trader’s quarter became clean and white, as if donning a new cloak for the holiday season. And while the delicate scent of fresh powder couldn't mask the stench of the Thames, Viktor found himself yet still transported to the forests of Siberia, great pines standing well proud of any dull man made structure. He liked to close his eyes before painting, imagine a cool winter landscape from his childhood before bringing it to life on the page. It was no great wonder that is cards delighted even the most snooty nobles.

 

Though a new idea, the greeting card had caught on like wildfire. The ever advancing printers press made them relatively affordable to the emerging middle class, while the intricate craftsmanship of an original gave the wealthy and titled another fancy with which to impress one another. So quickly had the demand grown that Viktor Nikiforov had no time to protect himself from copycats. It was no matter though; not even the most resourceful forger had been able to match the skill and realism of Viktor's works. Their mountains echoed the city skyline, trees borrowed from Hyde Park. None could replicate the raw nature of a wild Russian winter they had never seen. And therein lay Nikiforov’s advantage. He was therefore content to sit by his small workshop window watching the London snowfall, mindful of a time when there was no glass between himself and the cold. He had never quite managed to part with his old pedlars tray, but was thankful that nowadays it only held paint.

 

Despite the silverette’s aversion to the Urban scene, there was a reason he hadn't organised his finances and bought a homely studio in the country. And that reason has just returned from some small excursion or another, rosy lips upturned into a smile as he reached his door, arm in arm with a friend. The man turn to bid his goodbye, giving the Russian perfect view of him tucking a soft stray lock of inky black hair back under his hat before going inside, bustle sweeping.

 

On Viktor’s paper an amber-eyed skater grinned jovially from across a frozen lake.

  
  


-o-

  
  


“Beaumont Street is but ten yards’ from Turner’s Square!”

“But every yard is an extra fifty pounds or so a year.” bemoaned Viktor to his equally tipsy companion. “I haven’t a raindrop in a river’s chance at courtship!”

“Not with an attitude like that, you don’t.” replied the Swiss. “I swear, Viktor, you get less fun to drink with the richer your get. If you were still touting on the curbside you’d have snatched the poor omega’s heart and the silverware to boot, and made off to Gretna in a taxi.”

Whilst Viktor protested his chivalry, Christophe ordered another round. For most, Winter brought a light purse, an empty belly and a cold house. But for Viktor, it was his busiest season. And so a few ill-advised liberties were allowed. The White Bear Inn and Public House was one of those liberties.

“All I’m saying is, if you swept Katsuki off his feet, the darling thing would no doubt be at least as eager to part his legs for you as you are to bond him-”

“CHRIS!”

Christophe was another of those liberties.

“ _ Mon amie _ , I joke. But pining won’t get your ring on his finger.”

Viktor sighed and ran a finger around the brim of his tankard. Vulgar as his friend was, he had a point. He sipped his substandard ale and frowned at a piece of lint upon his sleeve. They were woollen; warm and sturdy. Nothing impressive, but the coat had been bought with Viktor’s own coin. Coin he worked hard to earn.

 

Coin he would gladly spend on any frivolity or fancy his Yuuri desired.

 

“Viktor, I can hear you being sappy from here. It’s getting annoying.”

Viktor groaned and rubbed his face into his hands. He was too far gone for this boy. Chris gave him a look.

“Another round, please.”

  
  


-o-

  
  


Viktor had recently been throwing his face into his hands entirely too much. He felt like he couldn’t help it, only that his emotions might brim over if not forcibly held back - Chris had the audacity to actually roll his eyes at his friend’s explanation (“It’s romantic!” he’d argued. “It’s irritating.” Chris and the long-suffering barkeep had countered). Regardless, Christophe insisted that too much would irritate his scalp and cause premature baldness. And while the cardmaker was fairly sure it was a jape, he didn’t want to take the chance.

 

Although his latest client was making that awfully difficult. 

“-and two swans on the lake, with their necks intertwined, and-”

“If the lake is frozen, how would the swans swim?” Viktor interrupted the rambling noble lounging in the parlour reserved for his more elite customers. The young alpha Lord (or Viscount, or Baron or whatever) had been nattering on for a good hour and a half, plently long enough for Viktor give up entirely on jotting down ideas and instead focus his efforts on working out whether the man was wearing a strange sort of makeup or had simply been boxed in the eyes. After listening to his for that long, Viktor was becoming convinced it was the latter.

“They don’t have to swim,” said his client slowly, “if they aren’t real.”

The craftsman tried to explain realism to a man he was starting to think had never set foot outside a library full of novels, if only to break up the endless spew of poetry regarding the alpha’s  poor beau. To make matters worse, the noble was apparently Russian, and insisted on conversing solely in his and Viktor’s native tongue despite his flawless English. The cardmaker would cry if he heard another one of his favourite endearments associated with the silly man.

“It is no matter.” The man brushed Viktor off. “Only, I want my Anya painted like this.”

“Lord Popovich, I-” Viktor froze as his customer pulled a dainty Christmas card out of his jacket. It was one of his, a mass produced scene for that year.

“Do you remember painting it? It was what drew me to your work.” As if mocking his predicament, The coy face of an amber-eyed skater stared up from the wintry scene. “So full of expression! It is truly a lover’s portrait. My Anya…”

 

Viktor was speechless. Of course he remembered painting it. The original lay carefully wrapped in tissue in a box in his room. But he hadn’t known he’d been so  _ obvious _ . What if someone recognised his muse?

 

He let his client’s droning fade into background noise, drowned out by a growing wave of panic.

  
  


-o-

  
  


“A toast, to the New Year!”

 

The ensuing clink of glasses was drowned out by an ornate grandfather clock as it signalled the twelfth hour. Candles gave the dining-room-turned-ballroom a warm glow and a small band played merrily from a corner. It should have been a merry party, but Viktor was struggling to relax.

 

He was going to  _ kill  _ Chris.

 

His friend, as one of the most up-and-coming tailors of Camden, had arranged the celebration for all the well-off artisans and traders and their families in the area. There were merchants, jewellers, artists, furniture makers, and every other seller worth their salt. Which meant that the ward of a certain merchant was also present.

 

Yuuri Katsuki looked resplendent. He wore silk of the finest quality, unusual for an age where the middle classes often turned to printed cottons to mimic finery, and a pretty opal necklace, cunningly arranged to hide his scent glands. His hair was plaited back in the latest fashion, and his ivory skin shone tan in the light.

 

Viktor had been admiring the boy from afar all evening, unwilling to ruin his fantasies with a brusque rejection. His alpha ached to approach, to court and protect and claim. But his anxiety held him back. He would behave, and remain in his proper place.

 

“I can  _ see _ you acting self-sacrificing again, Viktor.”

“Then you are mistake-”

“No. I would be mistaken if I had insinuated that you were  _ being _ self-sacrificing. As it stands, you are selfishly admiring your little jewel from what you  _ perc _ eive to be afar, and acting pretentious. I expect Mr. Katsuki is the only one here who hasn't noticed your pitiful pining.” Chris muttered. “This isn't some fancy ballroom and you  _ aren't a pageboy _ . Go talk to him as a social equal.”

 

Viktor took a sip of champagne in way of ignoring his friend. As it happened though, Chris was closer to the end of his tether than Viktor had anticipated.

 

“Mr. Katsuki! There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

 

Viktor choked on his mouthful of champagne rather ungracefully, whilst internally cursing the tailor. To his dismay, the black-haired omega was smiling and walking towards them. Chris patted the other alpha on the back in way of encouragement.

 

Chris undoubtedly introduced the two to each other properly, but Viktor didn’t entirely hear it. He was too busy focusing on how warm the omega’s eyes looked in the candlelight; how they shone with a playful glint. They, like the rest of him, were so expressive that Viktor felt he could read the other man’s emotions like a book. The happiness he could feel almost radiating off him suited the young man as much as the rich silk he wore.

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Nikiforov.” Yuuri said shyly. The man’s eyelashes didn’t flutter, as Viktor’s many novels had said they ought; instead Viktor caught a faint burst of the Japanese’s scent. Floral and sweet, like a ripe plum.

 

“As am I, Mr. Katsuki. May I say, you look absolutely lovely tonight.” Viktor’s eyes strayed to that wicked necklace. It was altogether deliciously indecent, barely covering the man’s scent glands. A single slip would leave them entirely exposed; the alpha in him found the idea worryingly tempting.

 

“Ah, I am only being used as a walking advertisement, I fear,” he twisted his hands in his skirts, “but such is the life of merchants, is it not?”

So that was it, then. Yuuri’s family were jewelers, or jewel traders. Viktor knew the young man’s family lived abroad, and that he was under the wardship of a relative in England. His Aunt, perhaps. The cardmaker tried to hide the way he deflated at the news. Jewelers were rich, far too rich to give their only omegan child’s hand to an  _ artist _ . His fate was sealed.

 

Regardless, Viktor was at a wonderful party with an absolutely stunning omega, and if he was to be brushed off, he would do his damndest to make the most of it.

 

“Forgive me for acting so familiar, but would you care to dance, Mr. Katsuki?”

When the man said he’d love to, Viktor let himself believe it; if just for a night. 

  
  


-o-

  
  


After dinner, the pair opted to take some air on the balcony, rather than follow their counterparts to play cards. Viktor hadn’t known he could be any more smitten, but that was before he’d had the opportunity to get to know the man who  _ insisted  _ he call him Yuuri. The silverette smiled at the thought.

 

“Not all fads encouraged by the monarchy are a good idea, though,” Yuuri giggled over the night-chilled cast iron table. “Minako - my Aunt, that is - decided we needed a Christmas tree in the town house in keeping with the trends. I have lost count of the number of pine needles I have pulled out of my stockings!”

 

Viktor laughed in return. “Ah, you need to see them in a great forest to appreciate them. Covered in candles and trinkets and ribbon, the tree itself is no longer the centrepiece. Besides,” he said with a wink, “the needles find their way to the forest floor, rather than stockings.”

Yuuri looked at the moon, peeking its way through the cover of cloud. “I suppose the forests of Siberia must look beautiful; you always paint them so.”

“You have seen my work?” asked Viktor, stunned. Yuuri turned to look at him, confusion crossing his brow.

“Of course! I doubt there is anyone left in London who hasn’t. I’ve lost count of the number of your cards on our mantle.”

Viktor internally spluttered. He’d refrained from sending a Christmas greeting to the Katsuki’s house for fear that it would be scoffed at and thrown  _ in  _ the fire, rather than above it.

“Ah.”

“I imagine you miss Russia.”

“A little.” the cardmaker admitted. A short silence followed.

“My mother once said that no matter where in the world you are, the same moon shines down on you. She said that every time I see the night sky, I may know that the same night sky is looking down on her, and the rest of my family. I expect the same applies to your forests.”

 

Viktor gave the man a smile, though it never quite reached his eyes. “To me, the sky here has never quite looked the same.” He pointed up at the moon. “You see there? She is obscured by dirt. In the Siberian forests, the moon shines as bright as the sun. In London, there is too much smoke and light.” Viktor shook his head. “How many stars do you see?”

Yuuri squinted up at the sky, before shooting an anxious glance at Viktor. He then reached into the folds of his skirt and pulled out a small pair of spectacles, which he balanced on his face, blushing furiously.

“Umm, maybe ten or so?” He glanced at Viktor again, who was momentarily bowled over by how adorable he looked bespectacled.

“In the middle of the wilderness, it is more like ten million. The sky is so full, you could hardly call it black.”

“Does the soot of London really hide all that?” Yuuri asked curiously, squinting again up at the sky.

“Not quite. It makes the air cloudy, but it’s the artificial light that causes the most trouble. There’s too much of it here in town; as man tries to outshine the stars, he loses sight of them. It’s a shame, really.” The Russian threw all caution to the wind, “I’d like to show it to you someday.”

His hand, numb from the cold of the night and cold wrought iron of Chris’ outdoor furniture, was suddenly enveloped in warm as the omega took it in his own.

“I’d love that.”

  
  


-o-

  
  


Valentine’s day caused an especially busy season for a seasoned cardmaker. Viktor had barely slept in an effort to trim enough lace, perfect enough calligraphy and sketch enough doves to keep the beau monde happy, and atop his already hefty workload he had elected to make the finest card for his own sweetheart.

 

Yuuri Katsuki may have been far beyond his reach in the marriage-mart, but it seemed that the omega was determined to have at least one great forbidden romance before his parents found him someone suitable. Viktor may have known that it was only a matter of time before he was cats aside, but he was determined to enjoy what time he had. 

 

How could he not, when in the company of his darling Yuuri?

 

Viktor glanced out of his workshop window on his way towards his pencil sharpener (which he had definitely  _ not _ moved there in hopes of catching a glimpse of a certain omega whilst working) at the Katsuki residence. Whilst happy, rather than yearning, when he saw the Japanese man, he felt a brief wave of fear whenever the ward’s guardian, the formidable Minako Okukawa, left the house in case she was on her way to warn him to stay away from her nephew. Viktor was somewhat scared of the female alpha, and didn’t like to think what she would do when he couldn’t obey.

 

Christophe, both fortunately and unfortunately, helped his Russian friend with his Valentine’s day stock. Viktor felt eyes boring into the back of his head.

 

“You’ve gotten up to sharpen that pencil five times in the past half-hour. I’m sure it’s keen enough now for you to run yourself through with in a fit of passion. Stop internally monologuing.” the swiss said between bites of apple.

“Stop chewing and talking at the same time, it’s disgusting.”

“Stop being sappy.”

“I’m making  _ Valentine’s day cards,  _ I’m supposed to be sappy. Stop spitting apple seeds on my floor.”

“You,” Chris declared as he theatrically spit an apple seed at his friend, “are currently in the process of making  _ anti-valentine’s day  _ cards for the bitter and alone. Stop being sappy. I am only here to help you with the ‘bitter and alone’ aspect as a favour, and as such am liable to leave in a huff if you continue to act indecently happy and in love in front of me.” he spat his last seed.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, my friend.”

 

Viktor huffed as he returned to work , illustrating a smug-faced moon next to a pretty calligraphed  _ ‘the only man who smiles upon you’ _ . But not before sneaking a glance at the wooden box beside his desk containing his favourite work-in-progress. 

  
  


-o-

  
  


Summer was hot. Far too hot for Viktor’s liking, and it seemed Yuuri’s as well. The omega looked to be sweating bullets under another heavy silk gown, wilting like a flower in the heat. Viktor had suggested a picnic, and while the pair were thrilled to be in one another’s company, he had a feeling the both of them wished to be somewhere somewhat cooler.

 

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

Yuuri gave him an exhausted look. “No it isn’t, Viktor. It is  _ far _ too hot. I feel as if I’m going to melt.”

“Maybe you should take off your silks, then.” Viktor immediately turned an even darker shade of red when he realised he said that out loud, and tried vainly not to think of the implications of the omega removing his clothing in front of him, and nibbled on a sandwich by way of silencing himself. The cheese was unpleasantly warm, and was also sweating in the way that only warm cheese can. Viktor sympathized.

“I could quite happily wed a block of ice if it meant I could have it.”

Viktor chewed thoughtfully (and also partly because he didn’t particularly want to swallow a warm cheese sandwich but thought it would be rude to spit it out. At no point did he notice the suspiciously half-chewed-sandwich shaped lump on the other side of the Japanese man) before inspiration struck him. He smirked as he asked, “Would you settle for the next man who could provide you with a block of ice?”

 

Five minutes later, and they had abandoned the picnic in favour of a hansom cab into the grocer’s quarter.

“Viktor, it’s no use. Minako checked yesterday, nobody in London has any stock of ice that they’re willing to sell!”

Viktor leaned forward instead of taking his sweetheart’s hand, unwilling to subject the poor thing to any more sweat than strictly necessary, “But Ms. Okukawa does not have the contacts I have,  _ dorogoi _ .”

 

Viktor loved calling his Yuuri pet names. He always responded with the prettiest blush. But moreover, the Japanese’s eyes softened around the edges ever so slightly at the tender lilt of Russian. It made the alpha more determined than anything to use them.

 

The cab pulled up to a nondescript greengrocer’s on St. Anne’s street, whereupon Viktor tipped the driver for his haste and helped Yuuri out and into the grocer’s. A stout, red-bearded man with a once-white apron and a cauliflower in one hand smiled at the Russian. “Nikiforov! Didn’ ‘xpect you ‘ere today! Thought you’d be enjoying the sunshine.”

“Not us I’m afraid, Stephen. Bit too warm if you ask me.”

The grocer laughed heartily. “Thas’ it. S’pose you Russian’s don’ get much chance t’ get used t’ the ‘eat, do ya?” Viktor spluttered whilst Yuuri raised his hand to his face to hide a giggle. “Never mind, Never mind. Who’s yer pretty young man?”

Viktor introduced them, the grocer smirked all the while.

“The two o’ you look like butter in an oven. I reckon you’ll be wantin’ to get a little something out th’ cellar, will ya?”

“That would be wonderful, Stephan. Usual price?”

Stephan thought for a second. “In this weather? Double. For your sweetheart, half. Jus’ don’ be gettin’ up to any funny business down there - I know yer an honourable sort, Viktor, but a boy like tha’ll make a fool o’ any man.”

Viktor wasn’t the only one sporting a full blush at Stephan’s insinuation. He took the key offered to him and led the omega through a door and down a flight of stone steps. The Japanese instantly perked up at the cooler air.

“Watch your step.”

Yuuri did so, and then gasped at the sight when he finally raised his head.

 

The room was full of ice blocks, some as big as the hansom cab they'd arrived in. Light filtered through from a network of mirrors above, giving the blocks an almost ethereal glint. Seeing his partner's awe, Viktor pulled him behind one of the enormous ice blocks to show him an exquisitely carved ice swan, as tall as Yuuri.

 

“Stephan is one of the top ice dealers in London,” Viktor whispered, “but ice can't go in the shop above, so he doubles up as a grocer. It also helps him hide his actual stock from thieves.”

“Thieves?”

“In the middle of summer, ice is notoriously hard to come by, so the price becomes very high. On top of that, Stephan buys from the best lakes in America, so his ice is the best quality. See?” the Russian pointed at another block of ice that towered above them. “it's clear as glass.”

Yuuri stared, realising Viktor was right. The ice was almost completely transparent. Whites and blues refracted through the blocks from jagged edges where chunks had been chipped off, creating a gorgeous palette of colour. It reminded him of-

“I come here to paint.” Viktor said, expression unreadable. “Stephan and I are old friends; even when I first started making scenes, I really needed a reference for ice. It's just so… reactive that I couldn't paint it properly from memory.”

Yuuri looked, and understood. The light fell through the blocks in a million different ways, as if through a gemstone. He turned to Viktor to ask some trivial question, but forgot it as soon as their eyes met. The alpha was staring at him, a soft expression across his features. Yuuri realised then how close they were in the chill room, how Viktor's eyes were as blue as the light surrounding them, and his scent crisp in the still air. The taller man reached up, tentatively, to tuck a stray lock of inky black hair behind his sweetheart’s ear.

“The light refracts across your face just so…” he murmured. His hand did not retract, instead moving to cup the omega's face, thumb sweeping his cheek as gently as if touching glass. And then their lips met, a welcome warmth in the cool of the room, sweet and soft and perfect.

 

They kissed until breathless, until their happy smiles turned to giggles and neither could keep from grinning to continue.

  
  


-o-

  
  


The final days of summer dripped away. October brought Autumn chills and an endless cover of rain, but Viktor consoled himself with visits from his Yuuri. Scent covered by that of mud and rain, and sodden to the bone, the raven-haired omega was still a sight to behold. Kept inside by the weather, Viktor had taught him some calligraphy by firelight, and had in turn been taught some about Japan (“In Japan, I wore the most beautiful kimono. Here, omegas wear much simpler dresses.”). Viktor cherished his time with his sweetheart, knowing that all too soon it would end.

 

And so as the nights grew longer, he held him a little tighter, kissed him a little sweeter, and loved him a little harder. And more than anything, wished he was worthy to wed him.

 

“I have something important to say,” Viktor declared one day. They were in a cab, driving around London despite the cold and wet. The Russian felt sorry for the driver, but supposed he wouldn't otherwise make any money in the poor weather. Yuuri had gotten tired of being cooped up inside, and while Viktor could argue that they had simply paid to be cooped up in a less comfortable space and ferried around in the rain, his omega seemed content.

“What is it, Vitya?”

“I… ah… should like to make an.. event of sorts for it. I thought I might have cook make something special and we might make an evening of it.” Yuuri’s expressive eyes sparkled and he hugged his woolen cloak closer against his rich silk skirts as a pleased scent filled the cab.

“That sounds lovely.” 

  
  


-o-

  
  


Viktor smiled to himself as he waited for Yuuri to arrive. A wealth of candles had been lit and a meal prepared in anticipation; Viktor had even had his old piano tuned in case either of them felt like playing. A purchase he had made that very morning sat burning a hole in his pocket, he wondered what the other man would think.

 

When the omega arrived, the number of parallels from the pair's first meeting struck the cardmaker. He was wearing the very same opal necklace, shown off by a new, fashionably cut silk gown. Viktor had grown used to his darling’s penchant for silk, though many other wealthy omegas favoured a range of fabrics, the silk was richly made and very becoming on him. It was something the Russian could never tire of. He took his arm and led him to a loveseat by the drawing room fire.

 

“You, ah, said you had something to say Vitya?” Yuuri’s hands twisted his skirts together. Viktor didn't like to see his sweetheart so anxious, and took them in his own.

“It was rather something to show you.”

Yuri held his breath as the silverette pulled something from his jacket pocket.

 

An envelope.

 

“I must speak personally with some suppliers of mine abroad, and have decided to stop in my homeland for a short time. I may be gone a few months, it will give me a chance to better my work and come up with new ideas for the coming Christmas, last year's were a little lackluster…” he trailed off when he felt the hands in his fall limp, them snatch themselves away. He looked at the omega in surprise, whos scent had soured and begun to fill the space. Teary eyed and yet hard-faced, the man jumped up and backed away, hurt and anger twisting his expression.

“Solnyshko, what on earth-”

“You intend to leave me?” Viktor's heart ached at the pain in his voice. “You intend to-to pick me up and play with me, then cast me aside like some doll? Am I nothing to you?” he sounded so broken, so vulnerable, that Viktor was put on edge.

“Dorogoi, you know full well that we can't… we can't- our situations are such that it can't be! Our difference in wealth puts us in different classes. It would be an  _ embarrassment _ -” the alpha stopped in his tracks at the utterly heart-wrenching sound of his omega sobbing. 

 

“Is-is that w-w-what I am to you? A-a difference in w-wealth?” His breath came heavy and fast. “ _ An embarrassment?  _ Just b-because I'm not as-as-as  _ rich as you? _ ”

 

“Solnyshko, what do y-”

 

“Was I a poor little s-strumpet for you to.. to give a t-taste of honey? Someone f-for you to lead on and be  _ worshipped  _ by for entertainment?”

 

“ _ Yuuri,  _ I don't-”

 

“Don't what? Don't care? Don't love? How  _ fucking ironic,  _ the Valentine’s Card maker who doesn't  _ love _ . I thought you wanted to propose, Viktor! I thought the son of a poor, failing silk maker might get a chance to find a mate to love unconditionally and be loved by in return.” Tears streamed down both their faces. Yuuri scrubbed at his with the back of a gloved hand.

 

“I thought you m-might not mind. That all I have to offer someone so rich, and successful, and smart, and h-handsome was me. Only me. That's all I have. And I wanted you to have it. I see now that I'm not enough.”

 

He turned on his heel and ran to the door, leaving his coat and reticule in the foyer, but paused at the door, never turning around to see Viktor's outstretched hand.

 

“And to be frank, I never thought your cards were lackluster. I still have it. The first one meant for me. Though I've never actually been ice skating.”

 

With that, he disappeared into the pouring rain.

  
  


-o-

  
  


It had gotten colder. Far too cold to travel, they said. Cold enough for the Thames to freeze over.

 

Viktor had not come home.

 

Mr. Giacommetti had long since come grovelling at Minako Okukawa’s door in an attempt to explain his friend, but Yuuri had not left his room. Not for weeks. 

 

He needed to let his heart heal. But as months began to slip by, that seemed less and less likely. On All Hallow’s Eve, he received a travel-worn letter. He resolved not to open it.

 

By his birthday he accepted that he wouldn't burn it. By the first day of advent he was ripping at the envelope. 

 

_ My Dear, Darling Yuuri, _

 

_ I can only assume this letter shall never reach you, as if even in the unlikely event that the multitude of ships and wagons this letter shall travel on do not lose it, I fear you will use it as kindling upon arrival. I can therefore write freely, as if the contents of this letter will never reach a mind other than my own. _

 

_ I am an utter fool. The greatest dunce to ever walk this earth, in fact, for believing a folly made up in my own thick head for so long. I truly believed, accounting only for our addresses and a passing comment, that you Solnyshko, were of a wealth so much greater than my own that you would not entertain me. Me! A poor self-made cardmaker with a view so nearsighted that even the darling spectacles of which you are so ashamed could not help to fix. I fear I cannot see past the end of my own nose. _

 

_ For having hurt you, I will never forgive myself. I hope that you will not, either, and allow me to suffer immeasurably until I experience a fraction of the pain I caused you. My sweet Yuuri, Christophe tells me I am pretentious and a hopeless romantic. I expect the grovelling in this letter will serve to prove him right. _

 

_ I will admit that you were absolutely correct about one thing; I never once intended to marry you. I wished it, God, I would have given anything in my  or anyone else's possession to have your hand. I prayed every night for the means to court you, to give you everything you rightly deserve. I prayed for money, Dorogoi, to buy my happiness. _

 

_ I was entirely, completely and irrevocably wrong, my angel, in all but one aspect. I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul. I love you to the ends of the Earth, Yuuri, and even though that's exactly where I am bound, I will come back to you. I cannot, and will not, blame you one jot if you wish to snub me. But I will try, Yuuri. I wish to wed you. _

 

_ I shall be home by the first week of December, to print my new cards. I'm sure you will love them, my Yuuri. But they will wait, for it will be your door I run to first.  _

 

_ Yours, for as long as you will allow,  _

 

_ Vitya _

  
  
  


-o-

  
  


The first week of December passed without event. The second passed in much the same way, except for the ever-increasing pacing and anxious scent from the Okukawa household. Yuuri had visited Christophe twice, and even Stephan, in a vain attempt to find out where Viktor was. The frost fair was fast approaching, and any ship that managed to port made preparations to stay anchored until spring. It was almost impossible to travel.

 

No travel meant no letters. Which meant that Yuuri had read his over and over again, and slept with it under his pillow like the lovesick heroine of a novel. Maybe it was pitiful that he’d accepted Viktor's apologies already. But more than anything, he wanted to try. Even if he locked himself in his room until the end of time, he couldn't deny that he loved his cardmaker.

 

Another week passed, and Yuuri began to grow frantic with worry. Christmas was fast approaching, and society was beginning to feel the absence of Mr. Nikiforov’s greetings cards. Entirely unfounded rumours began making their way around town. One day the butcher swore he'd seen Viktor in the tailor’s district with a woman on his arm, the next a chimney sweep promised he'd seen his picture on a wanted poster. The lies grew so fanciful that Yuuri gave up looking, amd settled for waiting.

 

Christophe held a small Christmas Eve party, as he was accustomed, but the group felt the weight of their missing friend greatly. Yuuri hoped that the Russian had decided to stay in Europe until it was safe to travel. It was better to hope than consider the worst.

 

In an attempt to raise the spirits of the party, Christophe brought out an excellent bottle of champagne. They each took a glass, but none could think of a toast.

 

Suddenly, the maid interrupted their muted reverie. “Sir, I have a message for Mr. Katsuki.” She offered the stunned omega a sizeable box, wrapped in brown paper.

“Surely you mean a parcel, Lottie! That thing’s the size of an encyclopedia.”

“No sir, the man distinctly said it was a greetings card.”

With that, she trounced out of the room, leaving a room of entirely astounded party guests.

“What is it?”

“Open it!”

Chris stepped in “Right, I think we should let Mr. Katsuki respond to his personal correspondence in peace, shall we?” he dragged the disgruntled group from the room.

 

Yuuri sat on a chaise and pulled the parcel onto his lap. Unwrapping the paper revealed a beautifully carved white wooden box, with a glass panel on the front, revealing a wealth of lace and ribbon intricately arranged around his name. A dainty catch on the side of the box revealed that it opened just like a card, just as the maid had said. The top swung open to reveal more lace, ribbon and beautiful cream card. Each made up a number of detailed layers, forming pages. Tiny wooden doves kissed the corners of the pages, which framed embroidered endearments. The final page was simpler than the others, a carefully inked frame surrounding a short message: “ _ To my angel, all the love in my heart.” _

It must have cost a fortune to make, and was so outlandish for a card that it needed no signature. Unshed tears caught in Yuuri's eyes as he clutched the precious trinket.

 

His fingers caught another clasp on the back. Turning the card over carefully revealed another, smaller door that opened to show a paper chest-of-drawers, with tiny painted gold rings as handles. Each drawer had a quality written behind it.

_ Beauty _

_ Humour  _

_ Intelligence _

_ Patience _

_ Virtue _

_ Kindness _

_ Honesty _

The final drawer was not merely a paper door, as the others had been, but a tiny piece of sliding wood. Yuuri used a nail to pry it open, and gasped.

 

Inside a miniscule hidden compartment, there was a gold, topaz and diamond engagement ring.

 

“Will you marry me?”

Yuuri whipped around, tears falling from his eyes unnoticed as he looked for the source of the voice. Kneeling beside the chaise, shadows beneath his eyes and caked in the grime travel, was Viktor.

 

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I case anyone was wondering, this was very loosely based on the life of real-life card maker Jonathan King, who wooed his wife with the card described (she said yes!)
> 
>  
> 
> Come shout at me about how historically inaccurate this is in the comments or on my tumblr @vityamins  
> Or come to chat I love to talk to yall


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